There's gonna be a meter on your bed, that will disclose...

“I killed a man today,” said Lucy to Luke.
“How?”
“I ploughed my van into him. He died before he knew what happened.”

Luke noted this important anecdote.

“I killed a man today,” said Luke to Lucy.
“How?”
“Many years ago in primary school I had a reputation for tree-climbing. I could scale the tallest trees the fastest, and as a 10-year-old this meant a great deal to both me and my peers. But on one Tuesday lunchtime a new girl named Katherine Snyder beat me up the oak by the basketball courts by a branch and a half. From that day forth I had a tragic and beautiful crush on her, and as we went through school she became a staggeringly good looking and very popular woman. As a result, what I felt for her never developed into anything that you might loosely call a relationship.
But then I went into lecture my class on post-Kantian thinking a few weeks ago, and she was at the university administration applying for some sort of short course in Intermediate Accounting. So I naturally went over and struck up some semblance of conversation, and it led to us having lunch under an oak not dissimilar to the loss of my childhood. I felt compelled to remark upon this, and as mature adults I thought the topic of my prepubescent longing wouldn’t disturb her a great deal. Anyway, we found out we had a lot in common, and that she’d always thought I was likewise an attractive member of our species, so I arranged to have dinner with her, as you must have gathered by now Lucy, last night.”
“Oh I wondered where you were.”
“I don’t doubt it. Anyway, dinner lead to drinks and drinks lead to licking drinks off each other and I daresay you can imagine the only place that leads to, which it certainly did, six times in eight different rooms actually. And it was not until that sixth time, in that eighth room (the lounge), that I noticed a family portrait photograph which indicated she was at one time in possession of a man who gave her a child. Inquiring into this I found she maintained possession of him, except for a week now and again where he became the possession of his golf buddies in Scotland.”
“And he found you?”
“Oh heavens no! We finished up, drank some more, lounged naked and flopped over each other a little, and then I came back here. Just now actually. The point is, in what I assume will be between nine and fifteen years, the force of his wife’s infidelities will hit him, and the shock of not the action, but the shame of his own similar actions (ha! Golf! ) and their mutual inability to satisfy each other or even admit to each other their grand lacking, will drive him to an inevitable suicide. Probably by jumping in front of a van or something.”

Lucy sipped some red wine.

“I kill people much quicker than you, Luke”
“Yes, Lucy, but I certainly do kill them better.”

The children woke up, and they couldn't find them.

I'm a grown-up now. I'm a confident, self motivated, disciplined and dedicated worker who possesses critical communication and interpersonal skills. It would be nice if I didn't feel like such a little baby when it comes to finding a job.
I merely lack empirical proof to my conviction that everyone loves me. Hey, if they don't need it for David Hicks' conviction, why should I play by the rules?

For some time now I've been floating along a little golden pathway of good will where everyone, everything and every possible permutation of the world has gone my way. Seriously, anyone could see the road that I walked on was paved in gold. And then I looked down and thought about the larger symbolic implications of that song. I stand by my love of the selfish. It's working well for me as a life metaphor right now. Selfishness, meet Aleistair Crowley and Ayn Rand. Turnips, meet Selfishness. "Hi selfishness!" Never be lonely!

In Phaedra, and other similar classicist theatre and literature works, all you have to do is be an Amazonian prince, and casually mention that you love an Athenian princess, and it just happens! Like, that's all it takes for these characters. "I find my son attractive" is as treacherous and incestuous as "I fucked my son many times, wildly, with a paying audience". Apparently for the Ancient Greeks, intention is equivalent to crime. And wishes to love mean as much as a successful relationship. Is anyone else already out the door and rigging the sails to their Argo because of how sweet a deal this is!? When love is as easy as Athenian tragedy, I'll take the subsequent pain of the gods. Hell, we get the massive amounts of pain anyway, why not at least get an introductory bonus?
Don't worry Penelope, I'm coming! That is such a damn good metaphor for my life. I'm gonna go cut and paste some Homer quotes on my wall, and re-read Joyce. Remember the blog entries back in the days when I was first reading Joyce? I'll bet you do, they sure did roll like dice - insanely.

In Ptolemaen cosmology (oh, red-level bonus points if anyone starts a conversation with you at a party with THOSE three words) the earth was considered to be the centre of the universe, orbited by 9 rings upon the arcs of which planets traveled, and outside of which lay the Empyrean, or the realm of fire, in which God was assumed to live, and through the cracks in the outer sphere, fire shone through - ie: stars.
Aside from all the magical trinities involved there, and cool religious relevence to the number 9, and the impact that assumptions life that cosmology have had historically and culturally, the coolest thing I took away from my lecture on this was that well into the 16th century, God was believed to dwell in a realm of fire. And Satan, as we know, is the antithesis to god and was believed to dwell at the centre of the earth. Which, to grossly oversimplify, is why things on earth change instead of being God's "perfect" creation. Easy.
So where along the line did God lose his fire? When did earthy human-ridden satan snare himself the most powerful symbol mankind has ever had, the best of the metaphors, the top of what I'd loosely call the "awesome shit pile"?
Yes, that's right, at the same time when everything else went to shit - lately. Think about it people, and if anyone knows more on this, drop me a line.

Bashful are those who are forced to see how they really feel.
Shamed are the desperate who are forced to feel at all.
Weak are those who are ashamed to be bashful.
Stupid are those who are bashful to be shamed.

I'm suffering through a whole lot of confusion at myself lately. If anyone would like to tell me who I am, please leave a comment. I'll take pretty much anything on board.